


A Last Hope: Growth

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Balance [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU of an AU of an AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, GFY, Gen, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Physical Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shades - Grey Order, Slavery, Suicidal Ideology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8577715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Aged out Jedi. Force sensitives who were never found on Search. Those who walk too far into the Dark. Where do the lost go? What is it like to be found?





	1. Quinlan Vos

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Alyyks for a lovely beta!
> 
> Rillian and this version of Siri are [Flamethrower's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower), used with her gracious permission!

There were bugs in the wall and a small but persistent puddle under the sink in what passed for the kitchen. It was that kind of apartment, on that kind of world – a small trade hub on one of the minor, somewhat disreputable trade routes, where Zygerians traded with Hutts and Twi’leks, and cargo slipped through uninspected on palms greased with non-Republic credits. There were worse worlds to end up on, but not by much.

The roof didn’t leak, and the door locked: that was about all Vos could say for the run-down apartment. Council funds had dried up two months ago. Since then he’d been making do with the money from his loading job at the spaceport. Between that and his mission, sleep was a fond memory caught in two-hour stretches, if he was lucky.

Some days it felt like he was chasing smoke. He was no closer to cracking the stubbornly persistent slave ring he’d been assigned to investigate. If things had been normal, he might have called in backup, or at least asked for more credits for bribes, but things weren’t normal. Things hadn’t been normal since the holos of Palpatine’s murder had hit the news.

The main news outlets didn’t say much about the Jedi these days, but if you knew where to look – and where to listen – the Jedi were in worse and worse shape, restriction after restriction heaped on them by a paranoid Senate. Vos, who had walked too close to the Darkness for years now, was less than enthusiastic about bringing either the Jedi Council’s or the Senate’s attention down on himself.

Vos shut the door behind him, and did his standard, thorough check of his apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary. This failed to reassure him. It had been a long day with no results, but he’d had a bad feeling crawling up his spine for hours now, with no apparent cause. Maybe someone had uncovered his real identity? He hit the ‘fresher, still trying to plan for whatever was lying in wait for him. Pulling his lightsaber from the small hole in the wall behind the bed, he sprawled out on the lumpy mattress, and unwrapped a protein bar.

“Quinlan Vos.” The voice came from the shadows on the other side of the room. Vos was instantly on his feet, blade ignited. Force, how could anyone have snuck up on him–

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he chose a different, more defensive blade stance. He’d read all of his own mission reports from the years he’d forgotten, so he knew he’d worked with this man, although Vos had been just a padawan back then. He recognized the man, though. Anyone in the Republic would.

“Qui-Gon Jinn.” Vos kept his voice steady, not letting it waver even in the face of this Darkness. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

“Thankfully, not my padawan’s rather terrifying piloting abilities,” Jinn deadpanned, “but _please_ let’s not speak of that now.” His expression grew stern. “Instead, let me ask you the same question.” Jinn swept the squalid hotel room with disdain clear on his gaunt face. “What brings you here? Your own demons, or someone else’s?”

Vos tamped down the immediate flare of anger. “Yeah, I suppose you could be called a demon.”

“Excuse me?”

“You, Jinn. You’re why I’m here. I heard you’re some great Jedi but from what I saw, you’re just a Sith with enough smarts to pull the wool over the Council’s eyes. So, _why are you here_?”

The man’s cold blue eyes narrowed for a moment, then he shook his head. “Shade.”

“What?” Vos fought the urge to glance behind him – his Force sense told him no one was there, so that couldn’t have been a signal to someone. Then again, he hadn’t sensed Jinn in the first place.

Jinn sighed and crossed his arms in the typical Jedi fashion, by sliding each hand into the opposite sleeve. It was a sign of peace, of stranding down from a fight. Unless Jinn had a lightsaber tucked up one sleeve. Vos didn’t let his guard down. “I’m not a Sith, not anymore. We seem to be calling ourselves Shades of the Suns these days.”

This was not at all what Vos would have expected from a conversation with Jinn. Not given the footage he’d seen, of Jinn moving like something feral and half possessed, fighting...whatever it was that had been posing as the Chancellor. “You’re really great at not answering questions.”

“I’m not here to harm you. Even if I were, I wouldn’t be wasting my time talking with anything other than my lightsaber. And I do wish to talk.”

Vos didn’t move out of the guard position. “‘Talk.’ You mean recruit,” he said flatly.

Jinn studied him for a long moment. “The Jedi Council fears you.”

Vos bit back a snarl. It wasn’t his fault that he’d run afoul of political double-dealing and memory wiping drugs. He’d Fallen, but he’d dragged himself away from the Dark and back to the Jedi and his padawan, Aayla. Yes, the Council feared he might fall again. _Vos_ feared he might Fall again. Jinn wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know. “Go to hell.”

“Your anger does you little credit.”

“I’m not buying what you’re selling. Get out.”

Once again, Jinn surprised him, this time with a genuine grin. “You’re not afraid to speak your mind. Good.” Jinn held up a hand before Vos could speak again. “Please, hear me out. If you decide you still want me to leave after that, I will. You have my word.”

“For what that’s worth.”

Jinn inclined his head. “Indeed. Will you hear me out, Quinlan Vos?”

There was no guarantee Jinn would hold to his word, but Vos gave a reluctant nod.

“The galaxy isn’t perfect, and sometimes there are no good options. The Jedi do their best, and that is all anyone can ask, but the Order’s rules mean that it can fail people who desperately need help, because the Order fears the Dark side.”

“Right, because Darkness fixes everything,” Vos sneered.

“No, it doesn’t. But sometimes it can’t be avoided. Neither Yoda nor I are Sith, nor do we wish to be. We’re building a grey order. Darkness _and_ Light. Balance, neither complete detachment nor unrestrained passions. We modeled rather a lot of it on the Jedi structure, but at the moment we seem to be...rather limited on members. Not too many Fallen Jedi running around.”

Vos tamped down hard on the surge of fear and anger in his chest. “And…what? I’m the lucky Jedi you decided was low-hanging fruit?”

“We desperately need teachers.”

“Teachers?” Vos parroted, off-balance. He’d assumed Jinn wanted him as an Apprentice of some kind. “I don’t understand.”

“We already have more students than Masters, and even Yoda and I are still feeling our way forward on some things. We acknowledge the Dark side, we even – cautiously – advocate using it. Darkness contained by the Light. Both halves of the Force, brought together to make the universe a better place.” He met Vos’ eyes, and the Jedi was surprised to see that instead of ice, or corrupted yellow, they were just a normal, human blue. “We walk the shadows in between. We want to create a haven for those who are too old, or too hurt to be Jedi. But Yoda and I can only do so much, and our padawans need other teachers. There will be future students, too, and they will also need more than just two or three of teachers. I’m asking if you want to join us.”

It was too strange to be a lie and too coherent to be a dream. Vos turned his lightsaber off and collapsed down onto his lumpy bed. “You think the Council’s right. You think they’re right to be afraid of me, that I’ll Fall again.” He was rather surprised at how bitter he sounded.

An even greater surprise was how gentle Jinn looked when he shook his head. “No. You always were very determined, even as a padawan. I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. However, I do think we might be a more comfortable group to belong with than the Jedi, if you want to give us a chance?”

Vos’ chest felt tight, but he shook his head. “I have a mission here.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your mission doesn’t appear to be going very well.” Jinn gave him an evaluating look. “Does the Council even remember you’re here?”

Vos gave him a half-hearted glare. “Fuck you.”

“What do you need?”

“What?”

“For your mission. What do you need, what would help?”

“Credits for bribes,” Vos said, giving an honest answer instead of a flippant one, much to his own surprise.

Jinn nodded. “Come with me, give the Shades a chance. In return, whatever your decision, I’ll give you the funds you need to continue here.”

* * *

Vos spent most of the trip sleeping. The bed wasn’t luxurious, but after months on a lumpy joke with suspicious stains on one corner, it was heaven. The food was hot and palatable, and if Jinn happened to be in the galley at the same time, the Darksider didn’t engage in _too_ much persuasion. It was the kind of break he hadn’t realized he’d been in desperate need of, not that he’d admit that to Jinn.

Vos glowered out the viewport at their destination. Tatooine was a pit of a planet, and even from orbit it looked desolate and uninviting. He’d been there once. He only knew that because of the mission reports; the memory of his time there had been stolen from him, along with all the rest.

It felt odd, knowing that the last time he’d been here, so had Jinn. That had been right before Obi-Wan Kenobi’s death, and a bit over a year before Vos had had his memories wiped. From all accounts, he and Kenobi had been friends. Strange, and frustrating, since that tie between Vos and Jinn was long dead, and for Quinlan, he might as well have never existed.

Jinn took them in to an isolated section of the dustball, nothing around except a construction site and a small homestead right next to it.

Vos could make out snatches of voices as they drew closer, but the only people he could see were a couple of humans and a young twi’lek working on the construction site. In any other setting, he would have assumed one of the humans was a Jedi: she was dressed in the typical Jedi style, and her outstretched hands directed the bags of duracrete floating through the air. He’d bet good money she was no Jedi, though.

The kid left his task in favour of heading over to the homestead, probably to share the news of their arrival. The older human nodded at them and kept on stirring the duracrete. The woman ambled over to them. “Hey Jinn.”

“Tachi,” he nodded.

“I didn’t think he’d get you here,” she grinned at Vos, sizing him up with a look. “Damn, you look like ten klicks of bad road.”

Vos folded his arms. “And who are you?”

Her eyebrows bounced up in surprise. “It's true then, about you losing your memory?”

“Maybe,” Vos said, defensive. “What's it to you?”

“Ah, sorry. I'm being rude, huh? I'm Siri Tachi,” she stuck out her hand, not a very Jedi custom. “I wouldn't call us friends, but I knew you when we were padawans.”

Vos vaguely recognized the name, but nothing more. There was no pity in her voice – that was something, at least. “I'll take your word for it.” He gave in and shook her hand; a quick, firm pump of greeting.

Jinn ushered them to the small homestead, where food and more of Jinn’s ‘Shades’ awaited. By the end of that meal, Vos was at a loss. He didn’t have much to compare it to, but he’d never seen Yoda so _happy_. Jinn continued to show flashes of humour through his calm, nothing like the maddened fighter in the holo. Siri felt grounded in a way that reminded Vos of his master, Tholme – someone who had traveled through darkness, but hadn’t been broken by it.

The younger Force-sensitives were similar, but more boisterous. Skywalker, with his swagger and volatile insecurities. Rillian, with a Wookiee’s sharp temperament balanced with good cheer and humor. Yuna, emotional in a way that would never happen in the creche, but never out of control.

As for the non-Force-sensitives, they were completely at ease around the Darksiders. They weren’t subservient, and there was no fear in the interactions, not even the smallest flinch. The Force in the room hummed with the harmony and structured chaos of a healthy family. Jinn had been telling the truth – the Shades weren’t going to let a lack of Force sensitivity be a barrier to entry.

That was strange to Vos, but he basked in that sense of unity. He’d missed this. The Jedi Temple had felt like this, though much more serene and on a much larger scale. He’d been away from Coruscant too long.

 _Too afraid to return_ , he admitted to himself, walking out of the homestead’s entry dome and stepping into the darkness beyond its welcoming lights. Tatooine got cold once the suns went down, but he didn’t mind the wind’s sharp bite. He needed the contrast.

It was all a lot to take in. It would have been easier to deal with if it hadn’t felt so damn cohesive. He liked to think he knew a scam when he was surrounded by one, but if that’s what this was, then he wasn’t the only one being scammed.

He felt Tachi approaching well before he heard her. She’d grabbed a short coat before following him, but Vos appreciated that all she offered him was a raised eyebrow. Coddling would be both weird, and rather too much of an insult.

“You seem pretty stable for a Fallen Jedi,” Vos said, looking away from her to stare upwards.

She snorted. “Until something triggers me. Then I’m still a bit of a wreck.”

He glanced back and raised a brow. Siri’s wry look turned bitter, the feel of her in the Force souring a little.

“It’s a good thing we’re out here, away from...well, everything else,” she admitted. “Don’t think I’ll be able to handle slavers anytime soon without stabbing them.”

He grunted a non-response, trying to release the emotions about his own fabulous recent history with slavers into the Force. He hadn’t had much luck with that, of late.

They shared a somewhat more comfortable silence, until Vos nodded towards the construction. “So this is what you do all day? Float duracrete and rebar?”

The bitterness eased away. “Surprised the hell out of me, but I enjoy it. _Building_ something.” Vos could hear the worlds of emotion in that one word. “And besides. The Force is damn useful for this sort of work. It shouldn’t be just the Skywalkers and the kids building a home _for_ us. We need to be involved.”

“Leaving the recruitment to Jinn.”

“And the others,” she said, not seeming bothered by any of that. “I don’t want to go out and look for new people.” She stared off into the darkening night, her expression smoothing into a blank mask. “I’ve done enough hunting.”

Oh. Well. Yes. That did make sense. Tachi’s past had come up briefly during dinner, so Vos was aware of the clusterfuck of an undercover mission that had landed Tachi with the Shades.

Quinlan didn’t mean to ask, but the words popped out anyways. “Do you worry?”

Siri blinked away her own thoughts, looking at him in confusion. “About Falling? Little late for that.”

“I – no. I mean, about...this. You were a Jedi. I still am. But here we are, talking about making something new that’s at least halfway to the thing that led the entire Republic around by its nose. Doesn’t that make you worry?”

She gave him a speculative look. “No.”

“You sound pretty certain.”

“I am.” She turned away from Vos, crossing her arms. “Look, we acknowledge that what we do is dangerous. But frankly? If Qui-Gon was going to Fall and go screaming off into the Darkness, he would have done it _before_ he killed Palpatine. Before he had something to live for.”

“The Shades.”

“Yeah.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “He’s _hurt_ , and I’ve felt him tap into that to go Dark, but it’s not the kind of hurt that’s going to lash out.” Her lips drew back in a cold smirk that was all teeth. “Not at us, at least.”

It took a lot to not step back. Tachi might have had a point, about being an occasional wreck.

“He’ll kill to protect us, but Qui-Gon’s not going to go looking for more blood. He’d be the first to say there’s been enough death. Also, Yoda and Qui-Gon are in each other’s lineage, no matter how you slice it. Neither of them would put the other in danger, and given what they did to Palpatine, I don’t think they’d be behind this effort if they thought it would put the other one in danger of turning out like that.”

Vos had to turn away, Tachi’s points scoring home better than she could know. The instinct to protect your padawan never went away, even when they weren’t your padawan anymore. Years ago, he’d been betrayed and left at the mercy of bounty hunters and assassins, without his lightsaber or even his memory. When he’d seen a sliver of his past from a psychometric reading of his recovered lightsaber, his first instinct had been to rescue his padawan, Aayla Secura. Lineage was important, even to Jedi.

On the other hand, he knew how dangerous that could be – in the course of rescuing and safeguarding his padawan, he’d slipped into a need for revenge. He’d almost killed someone in cold blood. He’d used Force-lightning, and even now, he couldn’t bring himself to regret that.

“So, interested in a trial run?” Tachi asked.

“I...want to be useful again,” he temporized.

“What did the Council have you doing that wasn’t useful?”

Vos managed to restrain himself to a disdainful snort. “Slave ring that won’t stay dead.”

Tachi went still, just her eyes sliding over to him as she radiated danger and _threat_ in the Force. “Strange dead ends pointing to the Banking clans and assorted guilds, but never any hard proof that would stick?”

A chill danced down Vos’ back as he pieced it together. “You think we were working different angles of the same problem.”

She snarled something vile in Huttese, glaring off at the dunes. “Well. Good to know that the Council didn’t just give up when I quit.”

“I’ve been on this for over a year.”

Siri’s grin had no humor. “Over two. Get in line.”

Vos barked his own laugh, daring to let himself feel the same kind of grim camaraderie that Tachi was exuding into the Force. “Think we can do anything about it now?”

“Gathering intel can’t hurt, right?” They shared a fierce grin, and Tachi gestured towards the entry dome. “Want to compare notes?”

He could hear, _feel_ the deeper offer underneath the simple question. Vos hesitated, then let out a long, soft breath. _Just a trial run_ , he reminded himself. He didn’t have to commit to anything. “Lead the way.”


	2. Kaleesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to Alyyks, who provides amazing beta work and deserves many many kudos and hugs!

There was a chunk of time in the afternoon when the suns were high, just at the right angle so that between the glare off the sands and the temperature, any remotely sane beings took shelter. Most communities on Tatooine combined a midday meal with either indoor chores or some form of catnap.

The Shades had taken to combining a light meal with meditation. It had been a quiet day, aside from the single-person speeder once again suffering from fluctuating power cells. Ani and Sozur were poking at it instead of meditating, though Novee, Shmi, and Cliegg had joined the others in the shaded areas of the central courtyard.

Yoda was well aware that Cliegg was sleeping rather than meditating – not that Novee was doing more than scribbling designs on a datapad as she sprawled across Qui-Gon’s lap. Qui-Gon was doing an admirable job of ignoring the youngling, as well as the occasional faint snore from Cliegg. Shmi was sitting next to her husband, giving him an occasional useless nudge when the noise got a bit out of hand, and Siri and Vos had started some obscure game of mimicry. Yoda wasn’t entirely sure _what_ they were doing, but the two were seated in a proper lotus, back to back, and there seemed to be some kind of competition regarding discreet elbow nudges. He’d decided to ignore that as well and just enjoy the meditation, and the pleased/happy/content sensation in the Force.

He stretched out his senses as far as he could, trying once more to tap into the Dark side just a little, to apply a hint of protectiveness-based-upon-fear-for-others, but once again the exact emotion slipped through his mental fingers.

It did, however, mean that he could sense something strange. He directed his attention to the anomaly with a frown, deliberately reaching out to find...whatever it was. Yes, there on the very edge of his perception was a small knot of rage/fear/hate/fury. It didn’t appear to be moving, however, and it wasn’t trying to hide in the least. It just...sat there.

Oh this boded well.

“Qui-Gon.” He must have sounded sharper than intended – good, a little bit of that Darkness was working for him, then! – because everyone focused on him immediately. “Sense that, do you?” He pointed in the direction of that ball of Darkness, and after a moment, Qui-Gon nodded.

“I believe so. Too isolated to be a Jawa, but I don’t think the Tuskens feel like that.”

“Trouble,” Vos growled.

* * *

Ani didn’t like the feel of the Darkness they went out to investigate. Part of it was he was still jumpy, after the whole assassins trying to kill Padmé thing, though he could admit a large chunk of that was that he _really_ didn’t like the notion of killer assholes sneaking into his home. He tried to keep his mind on driving the speeder, letting the wary fierceness of the others wash over him in reassurance. Qui-Gon was up front with him, while Yoda was in the back seat and in a good position to tackle anything really stupid. Rillian was a steady presence off to their left on Anakin’s racing speeder, ready to break off wherever she might be needed. Falling behind him was Tachi, Vos, and Yuna’s strong Force presences wrapped up with “Home.” That helped. He trusted they’d keep everything safe, and it wasn’t like Mom, Cliegg, and Owen were shoddy with blasters either.

Whatever this was, they could handle it.

When they found the source of Darkness, they discovered that no, it wasn’t that it hadn’t been moving, it had just been moving very _slowly_. A youngling, a Nautolan girl maybe around twelve or so, was plodding along the road. A trail of footsteps dragged through the sand behind her, trailing off towards Anchorhead. The end of one of her short head-tails was gone, mostly crusted over with dried blood. One eye was swollen shut, while a sleeve had been sacrificed to bind up a long cut on a forearm. She had a bloody knife tucked into her belt, though without any sheath. Ani brought the speeder to a cautious halt several meters away from her, while Rillian curved almost parallel to the youngling, remaining a decent distance away.

The youngling stopped walking only to sway slightly as she scowled. She radiated Darkness, her presence in the Force fluctuating between fury and fear, and making the wind around her whip at the sand. The kid was practically shouting with Dark side Force power, which was looking like the single reason she was still on her feet, glaring at them all.

The standoff broke as Yoda started to climb down from his perch on the back of the speeder, letting out small grunts as he used his cane to help him move. Dropping down onto the desert sand, he settled his roughspun robe and hobbled forward a few steps.

“Hello, there,” Yoda called. Anakin almost rolled his eyes. Yoda had the ‘harmless old Jedi’ act down to a science. “Very far from home you must be. Help, do you need?”

The girl swayed where she stood, her head jerking up in reflexive defiance. Anakin recognized that look: exhaustion and hopelessness and rage and defiance. He’d seen it over and over in every slave market he’d ever been to. Given the kid’s injuries, and that knife, he was starting to suspect this was no trap.

“Are you the weird Jedi?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.

Ok, that was...not expected. They traded glances, and Ani was the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Weird Jedi?”

“The ones who kill bad people.”

Qui-Gon’s face went blank, Yoda got that _look_ , and Rillian said nothing. Also, Anakin _had_ been the one to ask. “...Yeah. Yeah, we’re the weird Jedi.”

“Good,” the kid said, then she crumpled forward to faceplant into the sand, out like a light.

* * *

Kaleesh was confused at first. Uncle wasn’t nearby – she couldn’t find him the way she always could, if he was indoors. Was he out at the cantina again-?

Memories jolted back to her, like falling into a freezing current. She made herself take a breath and focus on other things.

She was on something soft and comfortable, which was strange. She forced her eyes open, blinking up to see a human woman, dark hair and dark eyes and a patient look.

“Am I dead?” Her voice cracked, dry and rough. The human woman handed her a glass of water. It tasted weird, same way all the water on this dustball did, but what was the worst that could happen?

“No.” The woman answered, settling back in her chair and watching Kaleesh drain the glass. When the water was gone, she took the glass back. “I’m Shmi Lars. The others told me you were looking for the Shades?”

“The who?” Kaleesh frowned.

“The weird Jedi.”

“Yeah. Are you one of them?” That might explain the way the human watched Kaleesh as if she could tell what was going on inside her head.

“No.”

Kaleesh could feel that ugly sensation well up, bitter anger-fear that pulled her shoulders tight. “Then where are they?” she snapped.

“Are you all right?”

“They shouldn’t leave you alone with me. I’m dangerous.” She tried to keep her voice level, but she didn’t like being tested. If she wasn’t being tested, then it was just stupid.

Even worse – even weirder – was that all Kaleesh got back was a gentle smile. “All the Shades are dangerous. That doesn’t mean I have to be afraid of them.”

That – she didn’t know what to do with that, so she just kept frowning. “Can I see them?”

It might just be that they wouldn’t – or couldn’t – judge her when she wasn’t awake. It wasn’t like she knew how Jedi worked.

“Of course. Here, sit up slowly, the heat on Tatooine can be difficult to adjust to, and you were out in it for quite a while, it looks like.”

Kaleesh tried not to bite her lip too obviously as Shmi helped her to her feet. She didn’t really remember. It had started as another horrible day. Uncle had been louder and angrier than normal. Then he’d- And she’d-

After that, she’d just started walking. She’d overheard the people at the cantina talking about the weird Jedi a few times, when she’d come to drag her boozed up uncle home. The drunk Devaronian had been really insistent that the weird Jedi killed bad people.

She hadn’t known where they were, exactly, but if she found them, they’d know what to do with her. And if she didn’t, well. The desert would end things quickly enough.

Shmi helped her down the hall and outside. There were people seated on the ground, all in shadow except for the little green man with the big ears who’d talked backwards. He seemed perfectly happy to be soaking up the slanting sunlight, not paying any attention at all.

The Wookiee was closest. It wasn’t just the little green man. _None_ of them were paying attention to her. Her stomach lurched, emotions tangling together.

“Would you like more water?” Ms. Lars asked quietly, her touch soft on Kaleesh’ shoulder.

Kaleesh jerked away from the contact, her world listing drunkenly to one side as dizziness swept over her. She stumbled sideways, or maybe forward. Tripping over nothing at all, she found herself half-sprawled over the Wookie’s lap, and froze.

* * *

Rillian startled out of her meditation, finding herself with a lap full of Nautolan youngling. The kid was pale, her spots standing out starkly on her head-tails, and – now that Rillian was paying attention – the Force shivered and ached around the kid, like a muffled scream. At least it was contained, drawn in tight instead of flailing out at anyone in range.

She waved Shmi off, putting one large paw on the kid’s back and moving it gently in small circles. The kid flinched a bit, but didn’t get up. Rillian let a comforting rumble build in her chest, and the kid’s eyes sagged closed, the tension leeching out of her. The kid snuggled into Rillian’s fur, and in short order she had an exhausted youngling sleeping in her lap.

Slowly the unsettled, pervasive Darkness surrounding the youngling calmed.

* * *

Qui-Gon had been keeping a subtle eye on the youngling as soon as she came into the courtyard. It was reassuring that rest had quieted her Darkness a good deal, but it was time for some answers.

Rillian stretched with a bit of deliberate exaggeration to her movements, but it was unnecessary to waken the youngling. She woke without a sound, but the Darkness swelled with fear and a bit of anger. Sand kicked up on Force-created shivers of uncontrolled ability.

At the least there was far less Darkness than before.

Rillian pretended to ignore that, giving the youngling a smile. [Hey, we’re going inside for drinks – Uh, do you understand Shyriiwook?]

The youngling relaxed a hair, rubbing at her eyes as she sat up. “I do, yeah.”

Rillian grinned. [I was wondering when you’d wake up. You can sleep some more, if you're tired?]

The youngling gave a brusque little shake of the head, wincing when the movement jolted her injured headtail. “No, I just...I didn’t know I could still feel the...the good things.”

Qui-Gon finally spoke up. “The Light side of the Force, you mean?”

The young Nautolan squinted at him. “The what of the what?”

He was becoming used to explaining these things, he reflected. “Things like joy, peace, hope, serenity.”

“Oh.” Shame and guilt slipped back into the youngling’s Force presence. “Yeah.”

Qui-Gon nodded and stood. “I think we could all use drinks and snacks, then perhaps we can get to know you a little bit.”

From the emotional jangle of astonishment, confusion, and fading despair, he was quite certain why this little one had been looking for the ‘weird Jedi that kill bad people.’ “You...want to get to know me?”

He hoped he was managing a reassuring smile. “It sounds like you have quite the story to tell.”

“...oh. Oh, okay.” The youngling was only tentatively beginning to believe she would live.

“I am Qui-Gon, by the way. And that is my student, Rillian.”

“I’m Kaleesh of– ” She stopped, ducking her head with a grimace. “I’m Kaleesh.”

“Welcome to our home, young one.”

* * *

Kaleesh picked at the food put before her, but drank down two glasses of water, sipping slowly as the Jedi and other people talked and ate. After everything had been cleared away, most of them filed out, leaving only Ms. Lars, Mr. Qui-Gon, and the small green man. They all sat around the small table, spread out around it, with Mr. Qui-Gon directly opposite Kaleesh.

“Kaleesh,” The tall human said, voice quiet, “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we need to know how you came to us.”

She nodded jerkily, her bandaged head-tail starting to throb again. Talking was okay, at first. It’d been about five years ago when the Blight Tide came in. Everyone had gotten sick, in the little community a few klicks off the shore. They’d farmed several large kelp beds – those had shriveled up too.

Kaleesh and her grandpa had been the only ones in her family to survive getting sick. She’d been one of the ones sick early, but not that bad – at least, not like a lot of people she’d known. By the time the Tide rolled out, the only relative she had left beside her grandpa wasn’t even on planet. Then, about a year later, her grandpa had died too. She could only kinda recall her uncle from a family vacation inland, and she’d been way more interested in _sky_ and _clouds_ than the adult that no one really seemed to like much.

It hadn’t taken long to figure out why that was. Uncle drank. When he drank he tended to shout. When he shouted, he sometimes hit her.

It was something about Ms. Lars, the way she _looked_ at Kaleesh like she wanted to hit Uncle herself. It started to get harder. It wasn’t like she was giving details, so that was weird, but she could feel her headtails curling up at the tips in spite of herself, her shoulders pulling in tighter and tighter.

Uncle took odd jobs wherever – hopping from planet to planet and picking a new place to be for a while. Kaleesh usually got by doing odd chores around the places they stayed, sometimes just keeping her head down and out of Uncle’s way.

The longer things went on, though, the louder he got when he drank. The more he cursed and hit.

By the time Kaleesh was describing getting to Tatooine, she could see her hands were trembling, her fingertips starting to go from the normal green to a light off-green grey. A light misting of moisture rose on her skin, the pheromones smelling sour and acrid to her head-tails. She couldn’t pick up on anyone else’s emotions with her own smelling so strongly. She didn’t feel scared though, so maybe her pheromones were broken? She felt kind of like she was floating, a bit. Like she wasn’t herself. She wished her hearts would stop beating quite so loudly, and it was getting hard to breathe. The events of that morning flashed before her eyes as she talked. Her uncle’s drunken ranting, him catching her by the head-tail, her pushing him away. The knife he’d picked up. The shock of having the end of one head-tail cut off. She’d shoved him again, but not with her hands this time. He’d come at her again, cutting her arm as she stumbled away. She’d gotten the knife away from him. She still wasn’t sure how because she hadn’t actually touched it. He’d lunged for her and the knife. She’d put the knife into him. He’d screamed, and come at her again. She remembered his hand on her throat, and her own hand on the knife’s handle, and then there’d been blood. So much blood. She’d stabbed him again. And again. And again.

A hand on her shoulder made her jerk up violently, a surge of revulsion and shock pushing out from her like a wave. Shivering and trying to catch her breath, Kaleesh stared at Ms. Lars, who was several feet back from the table. Mr. Qui-Gon had caught her as she’d been shoved back, saving her from a nasty spill.

Kaleesh’s hearts beat against her ribs like panicked birds, and a sheen of pheromone-laced sweat drenched her tunic.

She should say something, but there was nothing. Her mind was noise and static and blood.

She was bad. Dangerous.

“Kaleesh,” a gentle voice said, and she startled again, but it was only the small green man. He pulled himself up onto the table, kneeling there. He poured more water and a dollop of sweetener into her glass and offered it to her. “Here. Drink.”

Still shaking, she took the glass, hiding her face in it as she took a pull of the sweetened water.

“Kaleesh,” Mr. Qui-Gon said, but he didn’t sound angry. “Would you stay here for a while?”

She nodded, not looking up as the three of them left.

* * *

Sozur was glad that Ani had tossed him a fidget project. Having mechanical bits to put together made it easier to listen to the quick overview Jinn was giving them about the new arrival.

He'd never heard of “Blight Tide” before, but it sounded horrible. Him and Yuna ended up sitting closer together as Jinn continued, which was a lot closer than Yuna usually did. He wasn’t sure if that was ‘cause Yuna didn’t like the story any more than he did, or if she was more sensitive to the emotional fallout from everyone.

Kaleesh had ended up with her granddad, who hadn’t lived too long. She’d gotten passed off to an uncle. Soz knew the type. There were some adults who everyone knew spent too much time around the cantinas. You weren’t supposed to lend them any credits, you shouldn’t believe much they said, and when they were drunk, you wanted to steer clear of them.

It wasn’t slavers, but it didn’t sound much better.

He wasn’t sure if Kaleesh’s jerk of an uncle had beat her, just been treating her wrong, or what, but the way all the adults went quiet and tight lipped meant they’d figured out from the short, vague sentences.

At least, he thought so. Human faces were a lot harder to read than lekku.

There’d been a fight. She’d used that knife she’d shown up with on her uncle.

Things were quiet for a bit, then Vos spoke up. “We’re keeping her, right?”

Ani and Soz traded a wry look. They’d spent way too many hours while working with the vaporators trying to figure out just how long Vos was gonna keep being in denial that he was sticking around.

“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, with that almost scary cold tone he had that meant business.

“Ok, so, question.” Everyone looked at Siri. “Who’s going to be her Master?”

All eyes swiveled back to Qui-Gon, whose eyebrows went up, then came down in a thoughtful frown. “Does she need one? Or rather, does she need one _yet_?”

Siri shrugged. “Okay, but...then who's going to _teach_ her?”

Ani broke the awkward silence. “Who's going to be teaching Yuna?” He shot Yuna and maybe Sozur too an apologetic glance as Yuna hunched over a bit, holding on to one of her lekku. Soz put an arm around his sister’s shoulders as the silence stretched out and out.

“Wow,” Vos finally said. “You guys weren’t kidding about needing more people.”

Yeah, Soz could’ve told him that.

Oh wait, Ani had. A _lot_.

Qui-Gon made a face. “Needing more _teachers_ , yes.”

Yoda did the thing, the tappy stick thing while his ears waggled around thoughtfully. “Hmmmm. Young, Yuna still is. Assign her proper teaching we should, but of age to become a padawan, she is not. Not the case with Kaleesh, that is. Older, she is, and she will require a Master soon.”

Ani must’ve seen something, ‘cause he reached over to put a hand on Yuna’s arm. “Doesn’t mean we’re not gonna teach you, just that you have to learn to walk before you run. That’s all.”

“Absolutely.” Qui-Gon paused though. “I...admit I am hesitant to take Kaleesh on. Not because I think she would be a poor student in the least, but because I already have two and a half padawans. I worry that I wouldn’t be able to give her the attention she needs.”

“Plus you're technically running this circus,” Siri said, with a funny grin.

“That too, yes.”

Yoda nodded. “Mm, yes. Siri and Vos, also, require some time to learn the Dark side. Ready for a student, they are not.”

“ _Definitely_ not,” Siri declared, shaking her head enough that her pony tail bounced in serious negation.

“Agreed,” Vos declared, voice flat and certain.

“And you?” Qui-Gon was giving Yoda a look, one that Soz was pretty sure was some kind of amused.

Yoda’s ears went up and his eyes a little wide. “A student, I still am.”

Ani snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeeaaah, but you’re like, one of the best Jedi ever. There’s some carry-over, right? The kid needs to learn the basics before we start asking her to juggle lighting.”

“Very angry, she is. Hurting a great deal. Lessons in the Dark side she needs, not only the basics of Force-use.” Yoda did the tappy stick thing again, slower and longer. “Hmmmmm. Qui-Gon, would you be willing to teach her in that, if reach the limits of my knowledge I do?”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “Yeeees. I think that could work. Perhaps my students and I could do it collectively, that way everyone can learn, as well as learn how to teach.”

[Huh.] Rillian tilted her head a little before grinning. [I like that.]

Ani raised a finger. “Okay, just wanna say it’s a liiiiittle freaky thinking about having a student of my own, but yeah, sure.”

“It's settled then.” Qui-Gon looked really pleased with himself, then he smiled over at Yuna. “And I'll figure out some structure for teaching you, as well. Yoda, would you be willing to instruct them both in the basics, even if Yuna isn’t your padawan?”

“Willing indeed, I am.”

“Thank you.” Sometimes Qui-Gon got that grin, the one with just a few too many teeth, but with too much warmth to be mean. “We still need to get Kaleesh’s agreement, but…congratulations on your first Shade padawan.”

* * *

“Kaleesh?” She didn’t jerk upright this time, but she had to wonder what had taken so long. Mr. Qui-Gon sat down across from her again, and the little green man sat to his right. “I apologize for taking so long, but we had to work through some...logistics.”

She wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she nodded.

“If you wish, we are happy to offer you a place, as well as training with your abilities. Yoda here would be your teacher, if that meets with your approval.”

 _...What?_ That– she couldn’t– Kaleesh shook her head. “What?”

“A home,” Mr. Qui-Gon said, trading a look with the little green man. “If you don’t want to remain, then– ”

“No, I mean– I don’t understand.” She stared at them. “I– I killed my uncle.” The words tried to stick in her throat, and the other ones, the ones Uncle had thrown at her, remained. _I killed my family. They died because of me._ “That’s– I did a horrible thing, and you’re– ” Words weren’t _there_ , how to say what everyone already knew? “You’re the Jedi that kill bad people.”

She wasn’t the best at reading human emotions, and she wasn’t sure why Mr. Qui-Gon sat a little taller, muscles in his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth a lot.

“Bad, you are not,” the little green man – Yoda – said. She just looked at him, because that was the dumbest thing she’d heard in forever. Good people didn’t kill their family.

“Young one, self-defense is not horrible,” Mr. Qui-Gon said, and that meant he got the look next. Self defense. Self defense meant running away, not–

Not what she’d done. That was _murder._ Both of them had more to say, but it was all the same stuff. It was...kinda _nice_ stuff, for all that it was bantha poo. They kept saying she wasn’t a bad person, and maybe they thought that way for real, but she knew better.

Still. It was...nice, to imagine that there might be something to what they were saying. Not that she believed it, but it was nice.

It was decent odds that if she stuck around they’d realize how wrong they were, but that was okay too.

* * *

Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his face. It was almost a relief, the way the guilt trailed out of the room as Shmi took Kaleesh to try to find a decent corner for her.

“Believe us, she does not,” Yoda said.

“Neither of us have a very good track record of dealing with traumatized younglings, when it’s not for a mission.”

Yoda harrumphed and glared at him.

“Or towards a particular goal,” Qui-Gon continued, fighting down a vicious, humorless grin. That got easier as old guilt about Obi-Wan nipped at his heels. “I can ask Anakin’s opinion, if you’d like.”

Yoda sighed and slumped back. “Low blow, that is,” he grumbled. “Besides, looking to solve problems, were we, or poke each other with sticks?”

Qui-Gon refused to take that particular verbal bait. He finally sighed. He didn’t want to admit it, but... “Do you think Padmé was right, about mind healers?”

“Mmm, perhaps some benefit they could be.”

“Well.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Perhaps we should consider that offer of hers.”


End file.
